Gryffindor's Remnants
by OddKitty
Summary: In a world that borders, overlaps and interweaves with others like an M C Escher painting. Filled with magic, uncertainty and tradition where nothing is as it seems, Draco Malfoy has turned 16 and for his birthday, he wants a pet. He gets a handful. HPDM
1. Chapter 1

AU HPDM

A/N: ok, so what's new about this story compared to others of its kind? Er…nothing really, but I haven't actually encountered many of this type, so it's original to MY mind. So anyway…

**Griffyndors Remnant**

As a pureblood heir, there are certain traditions that many old families upheld and the Malfoy clan was no different. So when Draco came to adulthood at the ripe age of 16, it came that his father would take him out to find his coming of age gift.

The Goyle's had presented their child a house-elf of his very own. The Crabbe's, not to be outdone, gave their first-born heir a Kneezle. All the old houses followed with increasingly more expensive, rare gifts as if saying to the rest, "look at our wealth and influence and bow down to it". The practice of one-up-man ship was another facet of upper-class society that the Malfoy's were also prey to. Lucius would not see his son settle for less than the most extravagant, rare, and singular gift that could be had.

That was why they were at the illegal trade markets in a little known hamlet off the coast of Ireland. Not only could you find all manner of magical creatures, such as your unicorns, thestrals, centaurs, giants, goblins, hippogriffs, chimaeras, pixies, brownies, elves and trolls (among many others) but even the seemingly commonplace could be bought and bartered for.

The most prestigious and subsequently the most expensive items were of course the sentient beings. It was held that, to dominate, control and influence a thinking creature showed more power and ostentatiousness than taming a wild beast. Only the foolhardy, the idle and extremely rich tended to buy these items, and usually the consequences were resoundingly bad.

However, Lucius was, while extremely rich, never foolhardy and most certainly not idle. Traits that he refused to allow his son to adopt, resorting on uncommon occasions to a light beating or an extremely thorough one, depending on how rebellious the boy had been acting.

As the two had entered the amphitheatre some of the closer vendors after a moment of shock began preening and proclaiming their wares in an effort to tempt such a well known man of the wizarding community to buy their stock. However, Lucius marched on resolutely, towing his glowering son with him to the far side of the area where, on what would have been the stage, a large domed marquee had been set up to hide the more illustrious items from common view.

Draco was not happy and he was determined to spread his misery far and wide. This was not his idea of a fantastic 16th birthday party. He'd rather be at home with his friends celebrating with some butterbeer and maybe even some stolen firewhiskey from the liquor cabinet. Not only was the market ground filthy and reeking of a mixture of sweat, blood and faeces, but it was _bloody freaking cold_. His grey eyes narrowed angrily at anyone who attempted to address him and his mouth was set in a permanent scowl. His father, he would only acknowledge with brief mutterings of agreement or in the negative, sparing little else. Originally, he'd been giving his father the silent treatment, but after Lucius had struck him sharply on the head with his walking cane, he'd resorted to monosyllables to save his abused scalp.

Upon arriving at the marquee they were ushered in by a man in an odd form of dress. He looked like the ring leader from a circus that Draco had seen in a muggle illustrated book (something he'd gotten a rap on the head for reading, too). The atmosphere inside the tent was stifling. It was hot and humid compared to the crisp, cold air outside and sandalwood torches arranged along the outer edge of the tent were burning in an effort to ward off any peculiar smells.

Draco would have preferred being outside to being in the tent at the moment. He _despised_ Sandalwood. It just sort of screamed, "Oh look at me! I'm burning an extremely expensive and rare item! Aren't I fabulous?" It was horrifically pompous and stupid, considering it just smelled so foul.

Instead of the wrought-iron, dung strewn cages like outside, each creature was presented unfettered but for a chain encircling their neck (or the next best thing) upon a soft, satin covered pallet on raised platforms so that their entire figure could be viewed by the customer. There were so many different things to see, Draco began to forget his distaste for the place as he curiously stared at each new creature.

He spent a while contemplating the dozing Veela that seemed to have been placed at the pinnacle of the room until he noticed his father's approving look. No way in _hell_ was Lucius getting out of this little "excursion" unscathed. It was Draco's aim today to see if he couldn't dislodge his father's façade of cool disinterest by being as annoying as he was capable. He'd had many years of practice, too, so he nearly had it down to a fine art. Bypassing the Veela's spot with a sniff of disdain, Draco continued down each aisle, sometimes backtracking to take a second look at the merchandise.

All but the most docile of creatures had been placed under a stasis charm, leaving them in a sleep-like state to be prodded, poked and stared at all unawares. It was some kind of variation of the _imperius_ curse - though it was technically legal because legitimate animal handlers used it to restrain the more aggressive magical beasts. It still wasn't supposed to be used on sentient beings, but well, this was a slave market after all.

His father let out a barely audible sigh as Draco traversed another row for the second time and his cane seemed to hit the ground with a little more force than before and Draco had to smother the evil smirk that was threatening to spread across his face. Not wanting to push his luck, he made his way to the last aisle, in a darker section of the tent and carefully inspected each creature. The ones in this section weren't nearly as colourful or exotic as those toward the centre of the marquee. Some were frightfully ugly, others just frightful and together with them were grouped the more deadly and dangerous, as well as the mundane – but still highly expensive - trade stock.

Draco was nearly tempted by the Nightspan bird. A carnivorous bird that when their wings were spread wide, it was like looking at a star-field, the feathers opalescent and so dark it seemed to suck all outside light in. Tiny pinpricks of light shimmered and glittered off their otherwise opaque feathers like stars in the night sky or diamonds on black silk. They were magnificent, beautiful birds and could be highly dangerous if mistreated. But right next to that was the most peculiar exhibit yet.

He couldn't see much of the figure from the position it was in, what he could discern was that he (for he assumed it was male) was practically naked, apart from the kilt that covered him to his thighs, a longer panel in front. It looked a bit exotic for the standard Scottish kilt and was bare of any patterns identifying a clan. He was lying with his face buried in his arms, one outstretched, the other curling around his head, his thick black hair pulled back into a messy tail that sprawled over his neck and shoulders. On his left deltoid, Draco could just see a starburst shaped scar underneath the tail of his hair and his back was littered with scars, some looked suspiciously like welts along with fine lines that resembled knife cuts.

His feet were bare, but he was wearing some unknown animal fur tied around his lower legs with a thick twine. A thin silver chain snaked out from the solid band that encircled his neck. Draco couldn't see but he imagined that it was etched with special runes for added security.

The man who'd greeted them at the door and had followed them at a distance down each row sidled towards them, having noticed Draco's sudden interest.

"…what's this?" Draco demanded, without taking his eyes off the figure in repose.

"Ah, this one? He was a special request from a client. He promised us a lot of galleons to travel to the side realms to capture a Remnant following this ones physical description. But, he never showed up to pick him up or pay for him, so he defaulted to sale stock," The ringmaster explained with a casual air. "Apparently our client was in some kind of accident. Eh, oh well."

"Remnant? What's a Remnant?" Draco asked, turning to his father.

Lucius raised a brow at his son before answering. "The term is a colloquial word used to describe the savages that live in the side realms; even worse than your average muggle. Remnants belong to clans and live like animals. They do, however, make excellent warriors and bodyguards." What went unsaid was 'what are they teaching in that school of yours?', but the sentiment was made apparent with the tightening of the lines of his mouth and the elegant sniff that accompanied it.

Draco ignored the sneer undisguised in his father's voice and leaned forward slightly for a better look. "He doesn't look like a warrior to _me," _Draco remarked. "I want to take a proper look at him."

Lucius glared minutely at the back of Draco's head before nodding at the ringmaster. The man took up the chain and shook it. With his other hand, he gestured, like he was pulling an invisible thread upward. The figure on the pallet uncurled from his position and rose as if drawn by the thread, puppet-like, his head bowed low to his chest.

His figure was lean, bordering on skinny, his frame defined by sinewy muscle. Around his neck hung a twine cord with a large pendant that appeared to be carved from some kind of bone. It was vaguely teardrop in form and on closer inspection shaped almost like a bird with the wing turned upward to meet the neck in a loop. At what could have been the birds head a small fiery gem was set, drawing the eye to it.

His chest was bare but for some black markings along his upper chest. The tribal markings highlighted the prominent line of his collarbone by underlining it in segmented, thick curves that followed its length. Like his back several thin, barely-there scars decorated his torso, mostly along his flanks. A white jagged line trailed across his abdomen, looking like a recently healed burn-mark, stark against his sun-darkened complexion. A thin trail dark of hair ran from his umbilicus to disappear beyond the hem of his kilt, inviting the eye to follow its path.

Standing, his hair fell to his shoulder blades in a shaggy tail, his thick unsettled fringe hiding his features from view. Draco allowed a moment to appreciate the figure in front of him, even in its slightly rumpled state before moving past his father and standing closer, almost mesmerised by the soft rise and fall of the youth's chest.

Lucius turned to the ring master as he kept an eye on his wayward son. "Was he a difficult capture?" he enquired in a bored tone.

"Not at all," the ringmaster responded keenly. "Apparently when my men approached the village, the boy was fetched by his elders and practically handed over to them. We confiscated the spear he was carrying, but my men met no resistance." After a moment the ringmaster chuckled and continued, "It actually spooked my men a bit; they were expecting some fight, that they'd have to get their hands dirty somewhat. They ended up sedating the boy anyway, just to make themselves feel a bit better about it. It was strange…Apparently, they hadn't even verbally communicated with the people. It was as though they were waiting for them, my men said."

"Is there any particular reason he remains in stasis?" Malfoy senior pressed. The other man shook his head in response.

"Standard procedure for sentient beings," he replied minutely.

"I can't see his face!" Draco whined when he rejoined the older men, having gotten bored circling the pallet for the third time. While he'd enjoyed the view from many angles, it was the face that was most important. If the Remnant was disfigured or just plain ugly he wouldn't do. Draco abhorred anything he couldn't find in some remote way beautiful. It was a bit shallow, but he didn't think that unusual. And why shouldn't he have the best? He was a Malfoy after all and only the best was just good enough for a Malfoy.

"Make him look up," the young heir ordered in a petulant tone. His father cringed inwardly at the tone. He hated when Draco would act like a spoilt six year-old. It grated on his nerves and what made it worse was that in public, he could not discipline the boy. That would wait for after the coming of age party. The ringmaster looked questioningly to Lucius, who assented with a slight tilt of the head, the palms of his hands resting on the pommel of his walking staff in a stately fashion.

The garishly dressed man climbed up onto the pallet and grabbed the tail of hair at the nape of the Remnant's neck and yanked his head back so the blond youth could study the features. He went so far to smooth the fringe back with the palm of his free hand and turned his gaze on the two imposing - not to mention wealthy -clients in front of him.

Draco moved closer, a finger lightly pressed to his lower lip.

The boy's face was…interesting. It wasn't ugly, but it wasn't conventionally handsome, nor could it be described as pretty. It was heart-shaped, with a strong jaw line. Each feature was slightly angular, softened by youth and the semblance of sleep. His lowered eyelashes rested in dark, wide crescents against his cheeks, the skin of his eyelids darker than the rest of his face. His nose was narrow and slightly upturned, his cheekbones high, but not quite defined. His mouth was a little wide for his face, the lower lip fuller than the upper lip and his chin was strong with a stubborn set to it; he had little facial hair, just a slight shadow suggesting stubble. The boy's eyebrows were dark and heavy, but not brutish and suggested that the face was an expressive one.

Draco stared at the face, studying every angle, letting his eyes roam over every part of it. Above the left brow, white against his skin, a thin lightning bolt shaped scar marred the forehead of an otherwise undamaged face. It was hard to picture any kind of emotion on that face; whether he would possess an intense stare, or if he were more likely to laugh and smile than to brood in the empty state he was locked in. Draco came to the decision that he liked the face that somehow, even with its slight oddities, the fullness of the mouth compared to the angular line of the nose and the slight roundness of the cheeks was pleasant, easy to look at, engaging.

Draco turned to look at his father, his brow creased in a frown, ready to fight with outright refusal. The expression he was greeted with was mild amusement and one elegantly raised brow. His father turned his attention to the ring master as he was slowly stepping from the pallet. The Remnant continued to stand docile and unmoving as he was.

"How much?" Lucius asked.

"Well, he is a rare and a highly…er, morally sensitive item…Difficult to ship and of course there's also the cost of the chains. I can see my way clear of offering him to you for…300 Galleons," the ringmaster responded theatrically.

Lucius maintained his stony exterior only allowing for a small scoff at the offer. "300 Galleons? For damaged goods of an uncertain nature? How do we know this isn't just some muggle dressed up like a Remnant, or that your boys haven't interfered with the product? If this Remnant were a bit older, one could understand the amount of scarring, but as such a young creature, it's almost inexplicable. And of such a diminished stature? No, 140 Galleons," Lucius returned, a steely glint in his eyes. One of his favourite past-times was haggling, a guilty pleasure and needless for someone of his fortune.

"Sir, you insult me! I would never try and sell one such as yourself a false product and my boys are strictly trained and know not to, as you put it, interfere with the product, it's not worth it for them to do so, I see to that! 280 galleons!"

Draco rolled his eyes and wandered off as the haggling continued. There was no telling how long this was going to last with his father as caught up as he was.

In the end it was only half an hour of serious haggling and the Remnant was purchased at 200 galleons neat. A result that Lucius was not quite satisfied with, but felt was more than reasonable all things considered. Signing all the legal papers (because even black-market animal traders have their own procedures to cover their arses) and the money exchange took place as the Remnant was removed from display and stowed in a crate that had large square gaps between the boards for light and breathing. In the end it was a full hour and a half before the Malfoy's portkeyed back to the mansion, their package swiftly taken by the house-elves and positioned in the parlour where the celebration would take place.

Malfoy senior sighed inwardly once they'd arrived, thinking his son rather odd for his choice, though he couldn't fault him on his logic. Draco had explained, once questioned that he'd picked the Remnant because of the status gained from owning another human being – one that was capable and would be willing to protect its master (with the correct discipline) from any bodily harm. Not just that but also because Remnants were from the side-realms and rare in wizarding society and that _no one else_ could possibly top this, no matter how hard they tried and how much they paid. It was due to the wizarding laws that dictated how beasts and humanoid type creatures could be treated that it made it legal – if not unethical – to own a being from the side realms, regardless of its capacity to understand or fit in. And of course, if anyone did ever ask, the Malfoy's would have documents drawn up (Lucius was contacting the Lawyers on Monday), claiming the Remnant as an indentured servant. This Remnant was the only one currently in this realm and that in itself was part of the draw, having a one of a kind.

If Draco had said that he'd also thought that he was hot and oddly alluring, his Father would have flat out refused him and reversed the transaction immediately so Draco wisely kept that little notion to himself and allowed himself to feel smug and rebellious because he just _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt that his father would come to regret letting him have his way on this occasion.

He allowed the self-satisfied smirk to curl his lips at the very thought of it all. He couldn't wait to unwrap his gift!

…

Draco spent the time since getting home and before the ceremony in getting dressed and familiarising himself with the chain commands that would urge the Remnant to move while in stasis like the ring master had. There was a pamphlet that was titled, "So Now You Own An S.B: Your Guide to Proper Use and Management RE: your illegal pet and you" There was a message warning the reader to destroy the pamphlet once all information had been gleaned from it and Draco set about reading it with zest.

Once done, he set it alight with an _incendio _charm, dropping it in the fireplace. His father's guests (and their children) arrived shortly afterwards and the stuffy proceedings, the gift-giving, speeches and dinner proceeded, followed by the presentation of his gift in front of the amassed group of elitists.

Draco could barely contain his glee as he watched the mixed expressions of shock, outrage and disbelief that assaulted the crowd in front of him as the house-elves disapparated the crate from around his new prize. The boy was curled up on the satin pallet that had been placed on a raised dais much in the same way that Draco had first seen him. His back was to the audience and the overhead lighting in the room picked out the scars as silverly highlights against the boy's golden skin. Lucius standing behind his son regarded the socialites present with an equal sense of satisfaction. If he'd been any less of a man he would have been thinking, _beat that, you aristocratic bastards!_ But as he was a Malfoy and Malfoy's don't think that way, he wasn't. Nope, not at all.

It seemed a lifetime for the party to end and after showing off his ability to puppeteer the Remnant to the group of other teens for the third time, Draco was aching to just take his present, run to his wing, block off the entrances and wake him up, so curious and restless that his irritation was beginning to show toward the end of the evening. Narcissa Malfoy, seeing her son's displeasure and also aware that her husband had noticed as well and was growing angry from it had to make many subtle and even unsubtle (in the cases of the parties' Crabbe and Goyle) signals for the guests to depart.

It was well after 10.30 when the final carriage arrived to take the fussy Mrs Cake back to her abode and when the last footstep faded in the entrance hall and the small sounds that composed the contented silence of Malfoy Manor returned, that the dangerous glint in Lucius' Malfoy's eyes became more intense and focused heatedly on his heir.

Draco caught the glare and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He fought to remain still, to show no fear and remain impassive, but his knees were quivering and his face felt like it was on fire. Ok, he'd been acting like a brat, he'd admit that; sneering at the stupidity of Gregory and the unrestrained gluttony of Vincent and the sycophantic pandering of the Parkinson whelp. He'd also glared at Theodore Nott for being so aloof and disinterested and downright shied from Blaise Zabini's very presence. That boy gave him the creeps. And yes, he hadn't exactly been trying extremely hard to project that typical Malfoy sophistication and had indulged in gloating a little unflatteringly and he'd been outwardly obstreperous and almost disrespectful towards his father among company. He just knew he was in for a sound beating and he wasn't disappointed when his father's hand sharply cracked across his cheek throwing his head back and making him stumble.

Lucius eyes were narrowed in anger. "Never in all your sixteen years have I ever seen you act with such disregard for the propriety and honour of the Malfoy name! You are a disgrace and I can barely stand to look at you!" he seethed and this time raised his cane clearly with the intent to wallop Draco's already abused skull. Draco cried and cringed in anticipation of the sharp blow waiting to feel the cool wood make contact with the sensitive flesh of his scalp and he listened for the resultant slap, cowering, arms raised to fend off the attack. And he waited. When nothing happened immediately, his eyes flew open and his view was obscured by a quietly straining back, black hair gently caressing the skin. The Remnant stood, like he'd always been there; steadfast and silent. Draco looked past the Remnant's shoulder to his father's stunned face.

His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped, but Lucius recovered quickly to renew with added venom the glare that he aimed at his son.

"I s-swear, I didn't…I" Draco stammered. He lost his voice as he looked desperately for mercy from the imposing man. The Remnant's arm was raised, a fist firmly curled around the length of the cane and visibly tensed, refusing the cane from continuing it's progress towards the young Malfoy. Lucius' gaze flicked down to the otherwise neutral and lifeless stance of Draco's new pet, before returning to the boy himself who'd stumbled back a few steps from the two in front of him. A tense silence reigned over the room and slowly, Lucius' arm slackened and he took a step backward. Without any kind of prompting, the tanned hand slid limply from the cane to rest at the boy's side, and like he'd never moved, as though to some hidden signal, he collapsed. He fell in a heap, tumbling into that prone form that Draco had found him in, his head resting in the crook the arm that wrapped around his shoulder, the other arm lying slack, drawn close to his body.

The two Malfoy's shared a strained look, Draco wide-eyed with disbelief, Lucius' eyes narrowed in suspicion. After a long moment and without further words being shared, the Master of the house turned and his wife took her place at his arm and they left the stunned boy standing, staring and unmoved to his own jumbled, half-formed thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey guys. Er…this chapter wasn't supposed to happen this way. This was _SUPPOSED_ to be a two shot, but Draco and Harry ran on ahead of me and refused to behave, and this is what came of it. Nothing like what I'd intended, but I like it anyway. So, this is now officially a three shot (at least until the boys misbehave while I'm trying to round off the story). At any rate, hope you like. Constructive Criticism entirely welcomes!_

It had taken a while for Draco to return to himself and with that the panic had seized him, he'd fled the room and run full-tilt to his wing, swiftly locking himself into his ensuite bathroom. He took up position before the mirror and stared intensely, as if peering at his own reflection would in some way make everything stable and right.

When that failed to work, he shut his eyes and breathed for a few moments before turning his back and heading out into his room to his closet. He walked into the claustrophobic depths of, admittedly, a quite large wardrobe and pulled out his sleeping wear from the dresser that was towards the very back of the space and quickly stripped and shimmied into them, loving the feel of the expensive Egyptian linen as it caressed his skin. The cool brush of the fabric finally eased his nerves and he let out a long, relieved sigh before he made his way back into the bedroom. He got as far as the threshold before he paused, eyes instantly drawn to the figure standing prop-like beside the wall, head bowed to chest, almost unmoving with only the slightest sense of breathing making it a live being.

Warily, Draco edged around the perimeter of the room, farthest from the dark-haired, stationary figure and climbed beneath the heavy quilt that covered the vast expanse of his bed. For half the night he watched that corner of the room expecting to see sudden movement or the glint of a knife or something sinister. When none of that came he eventually drifted off into a heavy, exhausted sleep. His last thought along the lines of, _happy birthday to _me.

When he woke, it was as if he'd only just fallen asleep and he was drowsy and still feeling the effects of the tension from last night. He was, however pleasantly warm and felt secure, safe in his own little corner of Malfoy Manor. His bedroom was his favourite room in the house, second only to the broom shed that sat in solitude beside the open grounds where he'd spent much of his youth learning to fly, having snow fights with Crabbe and Goyle or playing with whichever wildlife would meander across the impressive fields of the ancestral property.

At one stage there had been a reasonable sized herd of deer that would sometimes make its way close enough to the outskirts of the forest that Draco could watch them, which he did fervently and with increasing daring. He'd been positively entranced by the herd and had even imagined that they were a group of shape shifters, rather than normal animals, wanting to join with them.

He'd had a special spot in his heart for the herd leader who had always looked so strong and fierce while still appearing graceful, like a dancer. It had been an impressive creature; dressed in soft russet and dusky colours. It was all long, slender limbs, powerful neck and wiry muscle that bunched and flex underneath its hide as it moved. The beast had had these magnificent antlers that made him a much more impressive figure.

After having watching them continually for so long, Draco has managed to cautiously approach the group when he was younger. They had become used to his small, quiet presence and in one magical moment, the herd leader had let Draco stroke his neck as the gigantic beast (well, gigantic for a six year old) had nuzzled at his hair. On reflection, the deer was probably just trying to eat it, mistaking it for dried grass, but it was still one of his favourite memories.

Later he'd learned how much danger he'd been in, approaching the group at the tail-end of their mating season. He was lucky he hadn't been attacked by the herd leader. In its own way, that fact alone made the moment even more precious to him.

Draco stretched indulgently, loving the feeling of being so enclosed. There was no urgency to the day, he didn't have to get up at some absurd hour for lessons or visitors and everything was perfect. It was drizzling outside, the air fogging the glass of his windows and he was safe, warm and relaxed underneath his sheets. He turned on his side to watch the rain track down the window pane and his breath caught in his throat.

The boy, the remnant, his _pet_ was lying facing him on the bed, his eyes wide open staring intently, a startling emerald gaze piercing the young heir as if he could see right through him to the very core of his soul. The boy – young man, really – was curled up on top of the sheets two feet from where Draco lay, breathing steadily, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Draco noted with dismay that the collar was missing from around his neck, revealing a red, angry patch of skin where it had rested until so recently. He also noted close up how the scars that traced over his frame like an almost silvery highlight weren't disfiguring at all, but…_alluring_ in a way.

His hair flopped messily over his forehead, falling partly into his constant stare and Draco had to resist the urge to brush the strands from his face. He could see the much more clearly the wiry muscle that bound his frame and he felt saliva pool in his mouth at the sight of so much eye candy right before him. What he couldn't get over were his eyes, they had him frozen to the spot by their intensity and Draco decided that they were probably the boy's most striking figure and probably the best weapon in his artillery.

The boy shyly bit his bottom lip still with that tiny small adorning his face. He scooched over a couple more inches and dared even further when Draco remained immobile til he was barely a breath from the other boy.

"Hi," he muttered, smiling growing as he watched Draco's eyes widen impossibly, making them appear doll-like and large.

"H-hi," Draco managed to stutter in response, trapped by the conflicting urge to fight or flee. The boy didn't appear to be posing a threat, but it had taken all that Draco possessed not to scream when he'd first turned over, only the grogginess of the morning keeping him from an immediate overreaction. Draco mentally tried to shake himself and blinked away his stupor.

"Um," he said eloquently. "Um, who are you?"

"Harry, Harry Potter. And you're Draco Malfoy," the boy, Harry responded with a cheeky turn to his grin. The blond started, sitting up suddenly, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

"H-h-how? How do you know me?!" he shrieked, his voice hitting a painful octave.

Harry rolled his eyes and reached under the pillow above him and dragged out a black, leather-bound book.

"Because it says so in your diary."

"What?! Where'd you find that? Wait, you can read?!"

"Of course I can, what did you think? That I'm some uneducated savage?" Harry asked with a smirk. "I happen to be a very well-educated savage, thank you very much…plus…I kind of caught your name earlier during the party last night."

"B-b-but. You were supposed to be unconscious!" Draco accused, jabbing a finger into Harry's chest. Harry batted his hand away playfully but caught it when Draco continued his assault. Draco brought up his other hand to resume his attack before that was swiftly captured in that tan steel-like grip. Draco squawked indignantly as the rough skin of Harry's hands chafed at Draco's wrists in a positively arousing fashion, making him shudder and fight harder to pull his hands free.

Harry laughed good humouredly and suddenly rolled himself on top of Draco, pinning his trapped hands above his head in each fist, effectively stifling any further attacks. The two were pressed together, chest to chest and – if possible – Draco's eyes grew rounder, suddenly fearing the boy on top of him. Harry manoeuvred himself until he was straddling the slender boy's waist to prevent Draco from resorting to kicking at him and raised himself to study the little blond he'd managed to capture. He transferred both wrists to one hand and with his other now freed, gently ran his fingers through the silver-white strands that had been displaced in sleep and their tussle, smoothing it gently from his face.

Draco immediately went still, his mouth gaping as he stared at the exotic man straddling him in wonder and disbelief.

"What? How? Please…" Draco practically whined. Harry pulled his hand back and placed it idly on Draco's chest and regarded the boy with a curious warmth to his expression. His fingers curled in the fabric possessively and he favoured Draco with another smile.

"Eh…imperious doesn't really work on me - in any of its variations. Well, not really. I can fight it off if I try hard enough, but mostly I just stayed under until you'd found me.

"At the party I kept fading in and out, and whenever you were near me, I could shake it off easily and I overheard your name," Harry paused, putting his index finger thoughtfully to his lip as something occurred to him. "You know your friends don't seem to like you very much. They were saying bad things about you when you weren't in earshot."

Draco rolled his eyes, suppressing a snort. "They're not my friends; they're just the children of my father's associates. I hate them - all of them - they're so pompous and insipid and so _focused_ on their own importance."

Harry laughed loudly against Draco, the sound reverberating through the both of them. With a twinkle in his eye he brought his mouth close to Draco's ear.

"And you're not at all arrogant, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm awesome, why deny it?" Harry broke down in laughter at that, releasing Draco's wrists and wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders, drawing him closer as he shook against him with mirth. Draco's eyes shut involuntarily as the sound of Harry's laughter caressed him. He felt a smile tug at his lips. Harry pulled back into a sitting position, his eyes still sparkling and Draco let his hands come to grasp Harry's upper arms, feeling the subtle strength as they tensed at the gentle touch.

Realisation dawned a moment later that his arms were free and in that instant a smirk flashed across his face and with a surprising burst of strength and speed, Draco managed to twist his body and throw Harry to the bed reversing their positions, er, sort of.

Draco was lying low on Harry's stomach, nestled in between his legs and before he could even blink he felt them lock tightly around the back of his thighs, securing him in place and he yelled in frustration before he let his head drop suddenly to Harry's chest in defeat.

Harry snaked his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him up closer to him. "Nice try," he remarked with obvious amusement.

"Bite me," Draco muttered into Harry's bare chest. He tried to muster the energy to try another escape attempt but he was incredibly comfortable and still tired from last night. Instead, he wriggled around until he found a better position and settled in for a nap. What can I say? Malfoy's are the masters of any situation. Even when a half-naked, exotic, wet dream of a man has you wrapped about himself and refuses to let you go, a Malfoy will always appear to be there by choice and make the most of it. Draco had always been the kind of person who could fall asleep anywhere under almost any condition and it was the bloody weekend, goddammit. He could do what he liked.

Harry unlocked his legs from around Draco's thighs when it was clear that he wasn't going to keep fussing and allowed for the blond to use him as a pillow for the time being. He turned his head and watched with a quiet fascination as the rain pattered against the window and he took his time in examining the room about him. It was a far sight from his village in the side realms where their houses weren't really proper buildings like this one with its opulent furnishings and warm touches, but a few longhouses built of thatch and rough-hewn logs with dirt floor and a fire pit towards the centre. They'd all slept together on straw pallets close by and at one end they'd stored their grain and dry goods from the weather. There was a separate building for the men and the women with the children staying with the women until the boys came of age.

This house that could have held over forty people felt empty and almost pathetic with its three sole residents. Only this room gave him the same feeling of safety, of home that he remembered back in his village. There, love, life and family had been the foundation of their settlement. Every child was a child to every other member of the village and all the wealth and prosperity was shared. He'd been happy, even though he'd never really been a part of it.

He'd been orphaned, his entire clan destroyed by invaders and he'd been alone for what felt like hundreds of years before he'd stumbled across Godricsson territory, starving and weak and broken.

They'd taken him in and he'd found a place with them, though still with an ever present degree of separation; regarded as he was with a level of distrust and even fear. He'd overhead some of the others saying that he was cursed and would bring destruction upon them. But he'd found friends, a new family, a new life and a sense of love from a select few. He'd had to fight for recognition and acceptance from the rest, proving himself an able and adept warrior and hunter.

But then the village's wise-woman had had a premonition that spoke of death that would come on the back of a serpent in search of him, Harry, a lightning bolt that hovered brightly above the village like a beacon of hope and protection. The snake would swallow the lightning bolt and the village would be plunged into darkness and consumed as would the whole world.

But she'd also seen in her dream a dragon and the silver chains that would lead Harry to him, shackled in the glowing form of a beast that would be more powerful and stronger than his original form. With the dragon he'd find the means to protect the village and destroy the snake forsaking the darkness. His form would shatter and cast a brilliant light over the land and he'd rise as another, a bird, wrapped in the fragments of darkness and fire.

Personally, Harry thought that she'd taken one puff at the hash pipe too many and the dream had more to do with drug induced hallucinations and less to do with actual prophecy. Plus if he looked at the possible implications of the premonition, then he'd die and turn into the evil that he'd fought to protect his loved ones from.

It sounded pretty stupid to him.

Harry shifted at the uncomfortable thought and Draco made a sleepy sound of protest before settling against him gently. Harry looked down at the blond head of hair resting against his chest and ran a hand through it, indulging in the soft silkiness caressing his hand. Ever since the slave market when he'd caught a brief, fuzzy glance at the boy in front of him, he'd been longing to touch him.

There'd been a feeling in the pit of his stomach - one of inevitability and fate, but longing as well. Harry thought that maybe the gods hadn't thought this whole thing through properly…He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be fantasizing about stripping his Dragon down to the buff and letting him do naughty things to him. But there it was. Even just thinking about thinking about it had his face heating in a blush, his skin tingling almost unpleasantly with awareness.

Draco chose the moment to whimper and squirm against Harry in sleep, the sensation going straight to Harry's groan, pulling a tortured moan from his lips as he felt himself harden under the weight of Draco's body.

Harry attempted to calm his body down but it was a losing battle. Harry pitched to the side, tumbling Draco onto the bed and edging back slightly.

Draco sat up slowly, his gaze bleary-eyed and sleep muddled. He rubbed at his face as his eased himself up onto his arm and he looked over at Harry with a grumpy expression.

"Why'd you wake me?" he mumbled. Harry was sitting with his knees clasped tightly to his chest and looked withdrawn, refusing to meet Draco's eyes. "Whatever, I'm going to get a shower."

Draco left the bedroom, shut the bathroom door quietly then collapsed heavily against it with a shuddering breath.

In a way he was grateful that Harry had woken him. He'd been having a dream about him. A sex dream. A very vivid, hot, sexy sex dream about him. Draco hadn't "wet" the bed in a while now, but gods, if that dream had gotten any hotter, he'd have been extremely embarrassed, especially since he'd fallen asleep _on top_ of Harry.

That might have taken some explaining.

Thank the gods for baggy pyjamas.


End file.
